Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Cruise, Marry, Shag

In upsetting news, the computer I saved every completed chapter of my book on is now refusing to function.  Like, at all.  Fuck!  Sorry to swear, I know that's just pointless.  What I really mean to say is Hey!  Are There Any Computer Experts Out There Willing To Help?  I Will Totally Pay You In Sexual Favours And/Or Mention You In The Acknowledgements Page If I Ever Get Published!
Kidding About The Sexual Favours!
Except Not Really!

The only positive thing about this whole situation is that it's 100% typically, well, me, and exactly the kind of story I'll add to the chapter I'm tentatively calling 'Technology, And The Ways In Which Computers Have Fucked Up My Life'. 
So at least there's that to be thankful for.

You know what's really annoying about Grey's Anatomy?  Everything.  No, I'm only joking, it's a great show.  All I'm saying is that it might be kind of nice for Meredith to shut her freakin' trap every once in a while.  'Oh, woe is me, I'm a hot doctor who's married to another hot doctor, and I always have perfect hair even after a 10 hour surgery'.  I NEVER have perfect hair, and the only contact I've ever had with a hot doctor was during my last sexual fantasy about Chris Havel from Offspring.  Screw you, Meredith.  Ooh, good question:  Who would you rather have?  Chris Havel from Offspring or McDreamy from Grey's Anatomy
Speaking of ridiculously hot celebrities, and the insane notion that I will EVER have my choice of ANY of them...Jordan, Alex and I spent a good portion of last Wednesday night playing a little game some of you may have heard of called Shoot, Shag or Marry.  At least thats my version.  You know, where someone names 3 people and you have to choose which one you'd shoot, which one you'd have sex with, and which one you'd marry?  Alex prefers Cruise, Marry, Shag, where instead of getting to shoot someone, you have to take a year long cruise and spend every waking minute of it with them.  This version is especially painful when the combination of names is something like Mickey Rourke, Arnold Schwarznegger, and Jack Nicholson Playing The Joker in Batman
Or, Fat Bastard, Kermit The Frog and Hook-Weilding Serial Killer From I Know What You Did Last Summer.
Or, The Jonas Brothers.
At least if we'd been playing MY version, someone would have had the option of shooting Kevin Jonas in the face.  No offence, Kevin.  I'm totally against the use of guns, I really am.  It's just that your face annoys the shit out of me.  Regardless, it was a pretty fun night.  We drank, we played, we drank, we played, I think I started dancing at one point, we drank...and before any of us knew what was happening, it was 1:30 in the morning and 6 hours before Jordan had to get up for work, so the three of us turned off the lights and went to bed like good little children and nothing else happened, nothing at all.

Unless you count the orgy.

Kidding, Mum!  There was no orgy.  Technically, I don't think 3 people even counts as an orgy.  Oh my God, why am I still talking about orgys?  I need more sleep.  Talk to you guys later.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

iPhone Home

And now for your entertainment, I will blog about a little incident I've come to refer to as The Saturday Night I Got Hammered And Lost My Phone.  My mates Robbie, Madi and Julia and Jordan probably have their own version of this story locked away for the grandkids: The Saturday Night I Got Hammered And Lost Jacki.  Whatever.  All I can give you is the clearest account from a brain soaked in Jim Beam and Red Bull...

This actually happened about 2 weeks ago, and I can't believe I haven't posted about it yet.  One of the reasons is that I am an idiot.  Another is that I don't actually have a computer or internet connection of my own, so the chances I actually get to blog are few and far between.  Yes, that is a hint that I would like you to give me a laptop for Christmas.  Lets get back to the story though, because it's a good one.  It was Saturday night and Alex had plans with Richie, so I decided to meet Madi and Robbie for a couple of drinks at the Longy.  Of course, it was SATURDAY night, and it was Madi and Robbie, so what I really mean by 'a couple of drinks' is 'how does my liver still function?'.  I think I got to the pub at about 8pm.  At around 10:30, we decided to catch a cab over to Mega for a bit of dancing.  Here is a visual representation of my behavior during those two-and-a-half hours:
A few drinks later...
And eventually Jordan arrived to find this:
Actually what I think I had said was 'LET'S GET TATTOOS!', but since nobody else was keen for that, we decided on dancing as a consolation activity.  In hindsight, that was probably a good call.
So we left and headed to Mega.  Here's what happened when we got there:
Bouncer: (peering into my face) How many drinks have you had?
Me: (pausing for like 8 minutes to gather my thoughts) Um.  Like, four.
Bouncer:  Okay, you're in.

...What?  I have no idea.  There are only two possible reasons I can think of that this guy actually let me into Mega that night:
1) He was high as a kite
2) One of my boobs was showing.
I really don't wanna think about which one of those is more likely.  Nor do I want to think too much about Mega, where I'm pretty sure I did nothing but drink tequila and make an idiot out of myself on the dancefloor.  Luckily this was Mega, so pretty much everyone was drinking tequila and making an idiot out of themselves on the dancefloor, but still.  I think I was there for about two hours before I (along with the bar staff) decided enough was enough and jumped in a cab.

Here's where the story gets interesting.

My memory of the night from here is pretty average.  I got in the cab and gave the driver my Mum's address.  Why?  I have no idea.  I think maybe that last shot of tequila had caused me to forget that I don't actually live there anymore.  I got to my Mum's house, dropped all my shit in the kitchen, ate a piece of toast and texted Madi that I was drunk as a skunk and decided to go home.  I think that was the point that I looked around myself and realised that I was in the wrong house.  I called another cab, got them to drop me at the apartment, crawled up the stairs and went to bed.  Boring, right?
Now here is the night according to everyone else:
After kindly being asked by the doorman at Mega to make my way home, I was snatched off the street by a Peruvian murderer who somehow stole my phone and texted all my friends that I was 'fine', when really he was taking me back to his house to make me his love slave.  After that, I didn't answer my phone despite being repeatedly called by everyone for the next 3 hours, and was almost officially considered 'missing', until finally I rang everyone back the next morning (from the LANDLINE in my PARENTS house), to inform them that yes I was fine, no I was not being held captive, yes I felt like an idiot, and no I did not know the current location of my mobile phone.
After trying all the obvious stuff (calling it, calling Mum, calling the cab company, crawling around the apartment carpark on my hands and knees), I finally succumbed to the realisation that my beloved phone was gone, and I was going to have to get myself up to Chatswood and purchase a new one.  Talk about an inconvenience.  I mean on the plus side, my previous contract was up anyway, and Optus had promised to give me one of those fancy new iPhones if I chose to renew with them.  But then on the minus side, fuck that!  I lost all my music and photos and contacts, and if you know anything about me, you'd know that I'm certainly not the kind of girl who could give two frozen fucks about a fancy new iPhone.  Sorry for swearing, but it sucked.  I'm over it now, of course.  Have you actually used one of those iPhones?  That Siri thing?  Where you can just hold a button and ask it any question, and it talks back to you?  I swear to God, being able to (jokingly) ask my phone for oral pleasure almost makes up for this whole mess.

So that's the story of how I got hammered and lost my phone.  I hope you enjoyed it.  And just so you know, yes, I am still holding onto the hope that my original phone is out there somewhere.  It's an iPhone 3 with a bright purple cover that answers to the name 'Jacki's original phone', so if you find it, please bring it back to me.  As a reward, I will ask the Siri on my new phone to give you oral pleasure.

Wednesday, November 09, 2011

Good afternoon, Sydney-siders.  And good evening to a Mr Richard Snowden, who is currently holidaying in San Francisco, and who I promised I would mention on my blog at least once.  Hi Richie!  How you doing?  I hope you and the boys are having fun, and that you aren't missing home too much, and that the weather over there is as delightful as what we're enjoying in Sydney.  Because it's freakin' hot.  How hot?  Freakin' hot.  HOW hot??
That's about as close a visual equivalent as I can give you....(because I didn't have any pictures of Hugh Jackman).

So Kim Kardashian's divorce, huh?  Yes, I am talking about it on my blog.  My stocks on Google just went way up!  Now all you have to do is sift through 18-and-a-half million other pages before you find me!  In all seriousness though, it really is very sad.  72 days?  The woman could only last 72 days?  On the plus side, my Dad has since become almost hopelessly addicted to reruns of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, and if there is a funnier situation to witness than that...well, it's not one I know about.  Still.  72 days?  If I were a real Richard Cranium, I'd probably say something about how it's kind of her own fault for internationally broadcasting the whole thing on a shit TV channel like E!.  I mean, she could have at least pushed for the Oxygen network.  I'm nicer than that though, so I'll say nothing.   Let's go for something completely different.
Shit.  I know.  Try to contain your excitement as I unleash said mascot upon the world...

We call him Little Lincoln.  I think it's pretty obvious why.  The resemblance is, after all, uncanny:

The only difference is that Little Lincoln's doors don't actually open, and there aren't 6 dillion parking tickets on the passenger's side floor.  Other than that though.  Uncanny!!
What else can I bore you with?  I got nothing.  Here is a great song:

See ya next week!

The Watermelon Theory

I'm a little confused about a saying I heard the other day.  Maybe you guys can help me out.


Don't get me wrong, I've heard this one before.  When Catherine and I were younger, our Mum was always trying to impart wisdom via some ridiculous rhyming sentence.  The Red Sky thing was one of her favourites.  That, and One More Tantrum And I Will Kick The Crap Out Of You.
Sometimes they didn't exactly rhyme.
Anyway, my problem is that I can't remember the meaning of the second line.  Shepherd's warning?  Warning against what?  I wouldn't normally ask, except that when I woke up at 5am this morning to pee, the sky was as red as a sunburnt bum on Christmas.  Something's coming, was my first thought.  Followed closely by my second, which read something along the lines of...Sunburnt bum on Christmas?  I need to stop drinking.

Speaking of Christmas, tell me what you want because I am writing my list.  I don't care how expensive it is, or how close we are - just tell me what you want and it's yours.  Provided it costs less than 50 bucks and I at least like you a little bit.  If you're not sure on that last part, a good way to judge is by answering this question:
Have I Ever Thrown A Watermelon At Your Head Before?
If you answered no, you can probably expect a Christmas present from me.
If you answered yes...I wouldn't hold your breath.
I call this The Watermelon Theory.  I plan on using the same system to cull extra guests from my wedding invitation list, seeings as it's basically foolproof.  The only person who lives in exception to the rule is my older sister Catherine.  I have thrown a watermelon at her head before, but she's also you sister.  And as everyone knows, family trumps assault with an over-sized summer fruit.  Every time.